What We Never Expected
by ALynnL
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale formed an Arrangement in the year 1020. Through wiles and thwarting, they made sure that no one ever won nor lost, and that the both of them stayed on this place called earth. Their pact would be put to the test in the fifteenth century, since no one expected the Spanish Inquisition.
1. Prologue: The Arrangement

**What We Never Expected**

I would like to join Aziraphale and Crowley in dedicating this story to…

_- My dearest friends in FEF, especially __**Vanessa**__ (who got me into Good Omens)_

_**- Mandi **__(who exchanged excited ansaphone messages and left much encouragement)_

_**- Stefan **__(whose patience and careful note taking helped me edit this story.)_

_- The Gaiaonline Summer Writers Thread, who made the first draft of this possible one word war at a time._

**_A/N: _**I thought Crowley's reaction to the Spanish Inquisition in the original _Good Omens_ was both heartbreaking and intriguing. This fic is slightly AU since it was the eighteenth century Crowley slept through, not parts of the fifteenth and sixteenth. I thought it was an interesting "what if" scenario! Without further ado, read on, dear viewer. And review if you can think of anything to say! Thanks!

**Prologue: The Arrangement **

_1020_

A small, lonely campfire burned under a cloudless, starry sky. Up ahead, a full moon was hanging alongside the stars. All was quiet in the desert. That was a surprise, considering how two opposing armies had just been fighting earlier on that day, in a great battle that would go down in history as one of the Crusades.

In front of the fire, two men rested. Or at least, they appeared to be men. If one looked closer though, they could see that there was something more than human about them. One of them had yellow eyes, with slit pupils. His dark hair was almost unnaturally black – especially for spending so much time in the sun. He was sitting closer to the fire than the other figure, whose golden hair almost glowed with an ethereal presence. The blond had a pair of blue eyes that nearly matched the sky exactly noon time, when it was the brightest.

They had no idea why they were meeting at the same campfire, since the two of them were on opposite sides. Polar opposite sides, as a matter of fact. One couldn't be more opposite than a demon and an angel.

The blond eyed his only company very suspiciously.

"Now what was it you were saying again?" the angelic one named Aziraphale asked. He hadn't heard the other man. He'd been lost in thought.

"I said, that the two of us work too hard sometimes," replied the dark-haired one, whose name was Crowley. "I mean, honestly. My side tells me to go up here and make trouble, right?"

"Yes, and you're surprisingly good at it. I mean, really, dear." Aziraphale could only sigh as he spoke. "You broke five swords today."

"And then your side orders you to come down here and do some good," Crowley continued on the same subject, but never the less smiled when Aziraphale mentioned his handiwork.

"Yes, and I pride myself in what I've been _able_ to do." Aziraphale stated. "I lost count of the amount of lives I saved today. I was able to heal most of them using their methods of medicine, with my touch, of course."

"What I want to know is... why are _we_ the only ones who have to come here to earth?" Crowley said. He sat up, basking by the campfire as he looked up into the sky. "If they really cared about who was influencing who, then they'd send a legion from my side to tempt every human. And probably a legion of yours try and thwart us, of course."

"What exactly is your point?" Aziraphale asked, also sitting up.

"My point is, that I don't think either side really _wants_ to win. At least not right now." said Crowley.

"Oh, come now-"

"There's only one person from each side: you and me. What difference are we really making, compared to the ineffable nature of humans?" Crowley asked. He'd taken this time to sit uncomfortably close to Aziraphale, causing the angel to inch away from him.

"We're making more of a difference than if we _weren't_ here." Aziraphale said, a tad defensively.

"Okay, so we're making a dent in things." Crowley admitted. "But we can't really tip the scale, right? So why keep trying?"

"I'm not surrendering, if that's what you're getting at." Aziraphale said sharply.

"I'm not talking about surrender, angel." Crowley moved in closer again, and whispered in his ear. "I'm saying we watch each other's backs. We don't win or lose. We stay in the game and we stay on earth. It will be more interesting that way."

"So, are you suggesting we form an alliance?" Aziraphale raised an eyebrow and his face screwed up into one of confusion. "With all due respect, I don't think it would ever work."

"Why wouldn't it?" Crowley asked him. "It's not like we have to _switch sides_ or anything." The very idea of going back Upstairs made Crowley wrinkle his nose. "We just do what we've always done. Think about today! You _did_ heal me and then I made that archer miss _you_."

"Well, as long as I have my powers, I heal everyone. I can't pick sides." Aziraphale answered, a bit testily. "And you were _smiling_ when that archer missed his target. You were just having fun, but I suppose..." Aziraphale grumbled, and then he paused. He recalled the last battle they had faced. "I suppose I could at least _thank_ you for today, but don't expect it a lot."

"What about my suggestion though?" Crowley asked. He didn't want to appear as if he was ignoring the angel's thanks, but he wasn't sure what to say in response to it. It's not like _that_ happened every day.

"What _about_ it?" Aziraphale snapped.

"How about we stop kidding ourselves, thinking that we save each other by accident?" Crowley asked. "We're both men on an island. Well, men-shaped creatures on an island. But we don't have to be on the island alone."

Crowley held out his hand. "What do you say? Do we have a deal?"

Aziraphale hesitated to stretch out his own hand. He wasn't sure if this was some kind of trick that Crowley was pulling. But something about the other being's eyes and his forward gesture was _earnest_. That was something he didn't understand about Crowley. He was a demon at the end of the day, but one that showed he had some good in him.

"I suppose an arrangement can be made between us," said the angel. Aziraphale took Crowley's hand, probably against his better judgment. They shook on it.

"An arrangement? Huh, that's a nice name for it." Crowley said cheerfully. "That's what our pact will be: The Arrangement. I'll make some trouble and-"

"I'll set things right," said Aziraphale. "But when it's all said and done, we're both standing at the end of the day."

"Exactly," said Crowley.

"I still don't know if it will really work." Aziraphale told him honestly. "But I'll give it a try. Perhaps only for now."

"I'll make it worth your while." Crowley said with a sly wink. "Trust me."

~ To Be Continued


	2. Chapter 1: Reverie

**Chapter 1: Reverie**

_1477_

It was a sunny day. Many days had been sunny since a pair of newcomers arrived in Seville. No one should have remembered them, but somehow, people seemed familiar with them already.

One of them was a bookish priest who went by the name of Friar Aziraphale. His robe was a shade of sapphire blue, which accented his cerulean eyes. His blond hair fell down to his shoulders. It was mostly straight, but always appeared slightly disheveled.

His kindness seemed to radiate off him, and he was always so helpful to the monastery that was situated on the eastern side of town. When he wasn't sweeping up or tending the candles, he read passages from the Holy Book and scribbled notes about the differences between books over the years. He kept his notes under heavy guard and let no one see them.

The other members of the clergy thought that this was peculiar, but they learned not to ask.

Aziraphale had written the last of his notes for now. It wasn't surprising that he looked up to find it was midday (at some times, he'd look up to find the sunset, but he'd kept better time recently.)

Midday was a good time of day. Some of the people had begun their siesta, while others looked around for a nice place to eat. Aziraphale appeared as if he were leaving the church for a nice lunch, just to keep up appearances. What he was really looking for, in the midst of the crowd, was a troublemaker or two. If you see a wile, thwart it. That was his motto. Aziraphale had to keep up with his angelic duties, after all.

And he did not have to look far to find trouble, or rather, the one who'd been a source of trouble the past two weeks they'd been in Seville.

The second newcomer went by the name of Baron A. J. Crowley. His hair was as dark as midnight, as was his short tunic, his leggings and his boots. Some of the people could _swear_ that his eyes were yellow, but they quickly forgot that in his presence. Because where Crowley went, the excitement followed. He carried a rapier that wasn't just for show – he'd fought many duels and won almost every single one of them.

The crowd that stood in a circle outside the Cantina Del Sol, one of Crowley's favorite haunts, could have only been standing there for one reason. Aziraphale sighed as he elbowed his way in. Crowley was at it _again_.

The dark clad baron stood over the unfortunate (but very arrogant and pompous) nobleman who tried to challenge him last. His opponent glared at him, and then stood up from the ground rubbing his rump. He'd probably be sore for a week, the way Crowley kicked him, but he asked for it. The nobleman had commented about his eyes.

"Come on, isn't there anyone who can match me? Place your bets, everyone!" Crowley exclaimed excitedly. So far, he'd won three straight matches in a row. The money exchanged hands in the crowd, and some of their frustrations were already building up. Whispers and swearing could be heard from them. There were some who'd lost too many bets already.

For the longest time, no one else stepped up. Crowley thought he'd won the day, until a glove landed at his feet.

Well, well, well. He wasn't always greeted in the traditional way when he was challenged. The glove at his feet piqued the demon's interest, and a smile teased its way across his lips. "Who's the owner of this, huh? Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

"I believe I do." Another Spanish nobleman stepped from the crowd. He wore a rust red tunic, and he wore the color proudly. His hair would have been dark as midnight if he was younger, but it was already peppered by shades of gray. Crowley's challenger sported a scar on the bridge of his nose, and he had a gaze that looked fearsome.

"I don't want any money on me, so put your coins back in your pockets," said the swordsman. "All I want is a match with Baron Crowley. If he is as strong of heart as he is with the sword, then I'm sure he will accept."

This was going to be a real challenge. But Crowley also had to keep up appearances. Aziraphale wished he wouldn't, but he had to say it…

"I accept! Can you tell me your name before we start the match?" Crowley asked.

"I am Baron Javier De Soto." The challenger said. He drew out a rapier that was similar to Crowley's own, but its handle was slightly more ornate. It showed good craftsmanship. "And it will be an honor to finally cross swords with the one I've heard so much about."

He was one of those old-fashioned types. Crowley didn't fight many of them, because they were too easy. He often took advantage of their goody-two-shoes behavior and pulled dirty tricks to win in no time flat. But this man seemed serious. It would be a shame to let him see dirt, but Crowley had his mission. It was still the same as always– "Go up there and make trouble." But how he made trouble is what made it fun.

The two swordsmen walked six paces from one another, each poised at their stance. The crowd counted down. Aziraphale was watching, half with worry for Crowley's well-being, and half wondering what underhanded tricks the demon would use to win this time. At least the defeated just walked home with bruised pride though, he thought. That wasn't as bad as some of the alternatives.

Three… two… one…

Each fighter sprinted toward one another from their spots. While Crowley's motions with his rapier were swift and unpredictable, Baron Javier's could match or parry every single one of his blows. Each fighter struck, dodged and weaved, almost as if they were dancing. Aziraphale watched the glint of the metal of their weapons intently. He flinched a few times when Baron De Soto was close to giving Crowley a haircut.

Crowley found it surprisingly hard to keep up, although this man was only human. In just a few minutes' time, the demon's typical fierce attacks halted in favor of a strong defense. He blocked and matched blades with Javier, but could not find an opening to strike.

Then Javier sped forward, lunging at Crowley. He poised his sword for a blow that would theoretically not end his reckless opponent's life, but it would ensure that he wouldn't be fighting at least a couple of days.

Crowley had almost no time to react, but he at least prepared to give Javier De Soto a second scar on his face for his troubles.

Aziraphale almost didn't want to see it.

The angel shut his eyes. The swordsmen's blades clashed, and then suddenly cracked, and broke. Both Crowley and Javier fell on one knee, with a broken blade in their hands. Whether it was a miracle or a simple matter of physics, it still led to the same conclusion. It was a draw, and neither swordsman was seriously injured.

Aziraphale opened his eyes again when he heard no screams. A sigh of relief escaped from him. He hadn't realized he was clasping his hands together until he put them carefully and quickly to his sides. The angel found himself clapping with the rest of the crowd when they erupted into cheers and applause. He did not shout, but he did smile.

While some of the people moved in to congratulate the swordsmen on their spectacular show, Aziraphale kept his distance. No one else in the crowd of spectators seemed to notice him. He was about to turn and take his leave, satisfied in thwarting Crowley for another day.

But then, the announcement was made.

"All right, everyone, back in the cantina! Everyone's got a round of drinks on me." said Crowley happily. There were cheers and hollers all around, and everyone filed in quickly for yet another toast from the wealthy, daring Baron A. J. Crowley.

He took that time to catch a certain angel by the shoulder.

"Hey, Aziraphale." he said. It wasn't the most formal greeting, but things had never been formal between these two. "Fancy meeting you here; I thought you'd be... you know. Singing hymns in the choir or something."

Aziraphale shrugged off the demon's contact. "I wouldn't sing a hymn if I didn't have to. It's bad enough that I'm obligated on holidays, you know that."

"I know one thing you don't do enough on holidays or any day." said Crowley in a singsong voice. "Come on in with me. Celebrate. Have a drink and a few nice bites."

"You know we don't actually need that." Aziraphale said sharply.

"But when has that ever stopped us?" Crowley asked. He put an arm around Aziraphale's shoulders, walking the both of them inside. "They all know me here already." he said, as he sat the both of them down at a table. "If you want, they can all get to know you too."

"Crowley..." Aziraphale muttered. "It's only been two weeks."

"But to them, we've always been here. It's the same in every town we've stepped in, right? We find our place and we fit right in. And no one ever questions it." said Crowley. He pulled a few gold coins out of his tunic, and jingled them. He didn't actually need to pay, but he felt it looked better that way.

Drinks were served to Crowley and Aziraphale almost immediately after his coins were taken.

"Here's to another day, and another win!" Crowley exclaimed joyfully. He held out his glass to meet Aziraphale's, and they made a hollow "clink" sound. "A draw against an opponent like that is almost like a victory, right?"

"You were just toying with that man though, dear." said Aziraphale solemnly. He took a sip of his wine. "You know just as well as I do that your powers-"

"Don't exactly work on him." Crowley interrupted. "It was like he resisted the normal things that could happen. He didn't trip. He didn't break his sword until the end, when we both broke them. And that's what made it a thrill, angel. I've never fought anyone like him in my life. I'm amazed that he got me to a draw."

Aziraphale's cheeks flushed, and he absent mindedly ran his finger along the edge of the cup of wine. "That was probably... my influence."

"You made him stronger then?" Crowley wondered.

"No. Lord De Soto was strong enough on his own. I made the draw happen. Just a little slip, I guess." Aziraphale admitted, taking a sip to cover up his flushed, embarrassed face. "I'd just rather no one get hurt at the end of the day, that's all."

"Aw, angel, you're being too sweet." Crowley said, lightly chuckling. His wine glass had been empty before, but it was suddenly full again. "You know that I'd shrug off anything and be back in a couple of days, tops."

"I'm not being sweet." Aziraphale answered sharply. He scowled as he took another sip of his wine glass, a much bigger gulp than before. "I'm being responsible. One of us has to be, you know."

"What _is_ responsibility, anyway?" asked Crowley. "To me, it just feels like you're doing what other people tell you to do. Why not let it all go for a change?"

"I'm letting go now, aren't I?" said Aziraphale. He was already on his second round, and Crowley had not even bothered to refill his glass. The angel had done so himself. "You can't expect me me to allow … well, even someone like _you_ to be injured though. I have to give everyone the same treatment with my powers. I heal _all_."

"I just wonder if you miss It." said Crowley. While other people were up dancing to the beat of cheerful music, his yellow, snakelike eyes remained fixed on Aziraphale's face.

"Miss 'It'? Miss _what_, Crowley?" asked Aziraphale. He seemed a bit irritated at the sudden change of subject.

"You know, fighting. You had a flaming sword a long time ago, before you gave it away. I mean, you must have used it sometime, right?" Crowley wondered. He would usually refrain from asking such deeply personal questions, but the buzz made his tongue slip. "I thought you'd take up a weapon as soon as you could. Deliver a little hurt in the name of Divine Justice."

"I can't miss what I've never done." Aziraphale admitted a tad sheepishly.

"You can't be serious-"

"I'm telling the truth!" Exclaimed Aziraphale hastily. "I trained diligently and I could make it flare like anything, but I never actually struck anyone with it. No one ever tried to break in the eastern gate when I guarded it."

Crowley answered with a cough.

"Well, I guess _you_ got in, but it wasn't how I expected. There weren't any dark flaming chariots, and not a single pentagram," said Aziraphale. "You just slithered in as if the place was your home. I probably wouldn't have even noticed if you hadn't come right up to me and said 'hello'."

"I was bored. I wanted to see how you'd react. I expected you to smite me right away, given the stories they used to tell me Downstairs." Crowley said, laughing at the rather inaccurate mental image. "You were so calm though. I couldn't even startle you. And I still can't."

"And after that, we ended up thrown together by fate, numerous times." Aziraphale said that in a nostalgic way, the way one might accept they are moving away from their hometown, never to return. "And so here we are. For all the good and bad of it, Crowley, we're here on earth, and we're in Seville."

"And we're probably here to stay. At least it will be interesting." Crowley added with a hint of happiness. "I know that I'm having the time of my life."

"Here's to more of them." Aziraphale held up his wine glass. "Here's to hoping for even more amazing times in our lives."

"Cheers!"

Aziraphale and Crowley's glasses met once again with a "clink." The two of them drank in full, sharing a smile and a laugh that always seemed to happen after a heartfelt toast.

"I'm just buzzed enough to start moving on the dance floor." Crowley stated, rising up from his rather comfortable seat. He held out his hand with a grin on his face. "Care to join me, Aziraphale?"

The angel couldn't tell if he were joking or serious, but either way, the reply would be the same. "You know I'm not one for dance parties, dear. You go out there and have fun. I'll be back here." He said meekly.

"Moping back here is no way to spend an afternoon." Crowley said, scowling. He took Aziraphale's hand, leading the both of them to the dance floor. "We're both going to _move_ with this crowd tonight. I've seen your fancy footwork before and you're not half bad."

Aziraphale stumbled along when Crowley had pulled him at first, but then something else took over. It could have been the wine, or it could have been the small part of him that didn't really _care_ about what others thought of him. Either way, giving in to a small temptation could never hurt. Aziraphale would be forgiven for it later.

"I suppose a little movement could help me unwind." Aziraphale spoke his thoughts out loud, trying to stay positive. "Let's go, dear."

Graciously, the angel took the hand of a maiden who was left without a dance partner. Their feet started moving instantly to the beat of the music, while each joined one hand together. They swayed and then Aizraphale twirled her almost effortlessly.

The crowd mixed and mingled, each person trading a partner as soon as they spun within reach. It was like watching a kaleidoscope of dancers.

Crowley eyed his angelic counterpart from across the hallway. He gave Aziraphale a wink, as if to say "I knew you couldn't really refuse."

Aziraphale smiled in return, and the dance continued on.

It had lasted until the evening, as dances tend to do. People filed out of the Cantina Del Sol to return to wherever their lives might lead them. Although it was quite far from his usual residence in the church, even Aziraphale was walking. He knew his place, as far as appearing normal in Seville. The Clergy took a vow of poverty – he would not have money for anything as fancy as a carriage of his own.

Never the less, a black one pulled up in front of him.

Aziraphale almost politely refused its ride to continue on his way, until he saw who opened the door.

"Hey, need a lift?" asked Crowley cheerfully. "I could get you closer to home."

"Why would you want to do something like that?" asked Aziraphale suspiciously. "What's in it for you?"

"Do you think I always have some hidden motive behind everything?" Crowley asked with a sigh and a shrug. "I'm a gracious noble making sure a holy man gets back to lighting candles in one piece. I'm sure the people will love to see it."

"Oh, so this is just to keep up appearances." Aziraphale muttered sourly.

"Stop giving me that pouty face and _get in_, angel." Crowley said, urging the blond inside. "I can't hold this door all night, you know. My driver will get restless."

"Since you're so insistent on it, I'll indulge you just this once." Aziraphale answered. His voice had fallen flat, and he was clearly not amused.

When he stepped in, the carriage door shut behind the two of them. The wheels began to roll, faster than any other horse-drawn carriage in Seville. They were zipping by others, heading eastward.

"You didn't complain the last time I asked you to hitch a ride," said Crowley.

"Well, yes." Aziraphale answered, settling into the carriage seat across from his companion. It wasn't hard to get comfortable on the plush, black seats. "It's only because the last time you gave me a ride, it was our first day here. If you make this a habit, people will notice, even if they don't bother noticing truly unusual things about us. Like your eyes, for example."

"There's nothing unusual about any of it." Crowley said casually. "If people really think it's their business, I'll just tell them the truth."

"You couldn't possibly tell them-"

"That you and I go way back, simple as that." Crowley finished.

"Oh. Well." Aziraphale paused in thought. "I suppose you could say that, and it would technically be true."

"What do you think of Seville so far, anyway?" asked Crowley curiously. He leaned in, as if he were hearing some kind of secret.

"I think it's a nice town. The people at my church seem decent: even for typical followers of The Book. They don't take life too seriously, which I think is important for humans." Aziraphale answered.

"It's important we don't take life too seriously either, angel. I still see frown lines on your face, even if you shouldn't really have them." Crowley teased.

"I'd say most of them are from you, dear. I think if it hadn't been for me, that duel would have gone differently, and not for the better." Aziraphale's voice took on a harsh tone, the way a parent might scold their child when they thought it was a good idea to play with fire.

"But it went well, because you were there. And you always seem to turn up when you need to." said Crowley. "Relax, will you? I think we're going to have a nice stay in Spain! Don't you?"

Aziraphale opened his mouth to say more, but he couldn't. He had to agree so far. Although they'd only spent a couple of weeks here, Spain seemed to be ideal. The weather was nice, the people were welcoming, and every single day seemed to bring forth new excitement.

"I agree," the angel said out loud. "I believe this will be one of the better places we've stayed." He looked out into the open air outside of their little space, not even realizing where they were until he saw a rather familiar stained glass window.

The carriage came to a complete halt.

"It looks like we're here." Aziraphale muttered in astonishment. "That trip was a lot faster than I expected."

"It gets you there quick, and you can't argue with that." said Crowley. To keep up the image of a true noble gentleman, he stood up and held open the door for Aziraphale once more. "Well, have a nice night, angel. It's going to be another early start for us tomorrow." the demon said cheerfully.

Aziraphale stepped off onto the ground, and gave Crowley a fond wave that simply meant 'see you later.' "Good night, Crowley." he said. "Do try to stay out of trouble, or at least stop looking for it. Will you?"

"I wouldn't be _me_ if I suddenly stopped looking for trouble to cause." Crowley said as he returned the wave. He heard the angel say something back to him, but decided to brush him off.

"All right! Next stop, my place." he said. The driver up front nodded in understanding.

With just his word, they were off. The dark carriage once again whipped through the streets at a pace that was not normal for man or horse. Since everyone knew it was impossible for a carriage to not so much as speed as teleport down the roads, no one remembered how the black buggy got from the monastery on the eastern side of town to a small, yet extravagant estate on the western outskirts. They just assumed it was never there at all.

Crowley thanked his driver, dropping a silver coin in his hand before the man inevitably sped off.

And then he stepped into the place he would call home for all his time in Spain.

It was not what one would call "fancy", but definitely not "modest" either. The meeting room looked spacious and stylish, which was the trend among 15th century nobleman. It was of course, furnished with the latest in leisurely furniture that was of course, black. Almost everything in the room was black, but Crowley put it together to make it have a certain appeal to it. What would he be, if he were not stylish?

The kitchen was smaller and simpler with a tiny stone oven, to make room for Crowley's impressive dining room. The table was four chairs long, and they lined both sides of it. There was a big chair at its head, and a chandelier that hung just above. The table was always set, because there was always a banquet to be had for any occasion in Baron A. J. Crowley's home.

But he'd had his fill of wine and food at the cantina. Crowley always seemed to. It's not like the people who lived and worked on his estate minded. It just meant more perks for them - and chances for them to indulge in gluttony. Crowley left his small staff of people to their devices as he headed into his bedroom.

It was large, as far as bedrooms go. It sported two windows that had a fantastic view of the Spanish countryside. A large dresser was on the left side of the room, which held many of Crowley's up-to-date, fashionable clothing. Right next to that was something just as essential - his weapons rack, which held most of his swords and even a shield that Aziraphale insisted he needed when they first arrived in Spain.

The most important part of the room was the bed.

It was also large, but Crowley went for big. 'Go big or go home', that was another of his mottos.

It was a canopy bed, and its black sheets draped on both sides of it. The pillows and the sheets were plush and soft. Although he didn't need sleep, Crowley didn't mind crawling into it as he did now, resting the back of his head against his hands as he stared up at his ceiling. He'd thought of getting that painted, but hadn't decided what he wanted. Most people went for religious paintings nowadays, but that obviously wouldn't do for him.

He'd figure something out.

For now, it was past the time for figuring anything out.

It had been a good day. And now, under a nearly full moon, Crowley was going to have a good night's sleep.

The next morning, Crowley awoke to the crow of a rooster. He woke everyone else by the same rooster, which disturbed everyone's sleep at least an hour ahead of schedule. There should have been much grumbling and general irritation that comes with being deprived of an hour's rest. But some other emotion seemed to be in the air today – and it was not from those who were mildly mad about not getting enough shuteye.

Crowley had to check out what was going on. He dressed in his usual black tunic and headed out his door.

The people were lined on both sides of the streets, the way one might see them during a parade. But they were not smiling, nor were they cheering. Crowley poked into his own place in line. He pulled one of the onlookers aside, whispering.

"Hey, what's this about?" Crowley asked. "Did I miss a victory march?"

"It's no victory march, I'm afraid." muttered the peasant next to him. "I heard there were people coming from the capital itself. They're here by order of the King and Queen, and no one knows why they've come."

"Oh? So there's more royal servants deciding to grace us with their presence?" Crowley scoffed at the idea out loud, but he secretly dreaded it.

He hated it when those associated with the Crown visited his haunts. It was almost always some sort of bad news. There was either some dreadful new law to be passed, or taxes were raised. Crowley had to admit he was proud of coming up with the concept of taxes, but the humans went too far in their methods to collect them, at times.

The procession of Seville's newest guests at last approached the horizon. There must have been at least a hundred – each of them wearing the similar, bright red outfits. Crowley thought all of them looked ridiculous, and then their horses looked at him funny.

But some of them carried weapons. Those did not look ridiculous, unless you did not fear what was dangerous. Crowley watched them pass by without a word, and for once, without causing any trouble in this wide open space. Something told him these new arrivals would not be happy ones.

His gut instinct was never wrong.

After the procession had passed, people parted ways, whispering nervously about what they'd just seen. Crowley didn't want to appear nervous, but something bothered him about these new guests in town. He thought a small-scale wile would help him feel better. He waved his hand in the air. Somewhere in the city, people were in a hurry, and a well-placed fruit cart blocked the way.

The swearing and the general negative feelings built up. Crowley chuckled, and truly _did _feel better for it. He hadn't been able to do something like this in a while. To him, it was like a moment of well-done exercise.

And Crowley was just getting warmed up. Stepping into the Seville town square, he eyed the early morning traffic. He moved his pointer finger, and a carriage wheel all the sudden gave way under a rich snob's ride. They didn't crash into anyone – but they did stall. It was more fun to make sure they lived, to keep tormenting them while laughing in the distance. The rich man stumbled out and yelled at their driver. That was just nasty well done.

It was the beginning of another lovely day so far, as Crowley was concerned. Maybe these visitors sent form the capital weren't going to change anything. Only time could tell.

~ To Be Continued


	3. Chapter 2: The Approaching Storm

**Chapter 2: The Approaching Storm**

_1481_

It would be four years before change really swept across Seville. The Royal Office of the Holy Order of Spain had set up fine in the city, but so far, they just hadn't done much of anything. Many people were not sure why they were here. And because they didn't understand them, the townspeople paid them no mind.

And life moved on, as it always has. There was no reason for the proverbial gears that ran the city to stop just because something new was let in. And so the city, much like the gears of a well-oiled machine, continued to spin and work.

Crowley did like throwing a wrench or two in the gears sometimes though. Ever since his arrival, the wagon wheels continued to disappear, especially from the fancy, more ornate carriages. Sometimes, bar brawls would break out in his favorite haunts, especially the Cantina Del Sol. And when all else failed, a well-placed pigeon dropping could drum up enough embarrassment to last a person all day. Crowley always knew how to deal personally with people without getting to know them face to face.

But for every broken carriage wheel, there was at least a horse nearby to take people where they needed to go, although they were slightly uncomfortable. For every fight that erupted in the cantina, healers would be on standby to patch people up. And even the unpleasant surprise from a dirty fowl could be washed away with a little well water and swallowing one's pride.

Sometimes Crowley could see Aziraphale and his smug grin when things went right. But other times, he felt the angel's presence in the good deeds, almost as if he were there with that "I told you so" expression.

It was a sort of waltz that danced full circle – fortune and misfortune, good and evil, wiles and thwarting. It had kept a near perfect balance in Seville that would take something _big_ to throw off-center.

At the moment, it didn't seem as if anything big was on the horizon. There were all the rumors and the speculations that were spreading around town, but none of them were confirmed. And so Crowley strolled, whistling a tune as he made his way to the Cantina Del Sol. No one had challenged him to a duel so far, but then again, people were still waking up. It wasn't anywhere close to midday. Once he was inside one of his favorite haunts, Crowley had it in his mind to order some eats.

He almost hailed the waitress, until his eyes traveled over to the seat next to him.

He'd noticed Aziraphale.

The angel hadn't ordered anything. His eyebrows were creased with worry, and he was nervously spinning his thumbs. Crowley slipped into the seat right next to him.

"Hey, angel-"

Aziraphale jumped, as if he were startled by something terrible. "Don't sneak around like that!" he exclaimed.

"I just said hello," Crowley muttered flatly. "What's got you so gloomy anyway? I didn't know you missed me that much." He teased.

"That's not funny." Aziraphale snapped. "And haven't you heard?"

"Well, obviously not if you're going to be vague like that." Crowley answered a bit sourly.  
>"Mind reading isn't part of my repertoire, I'm afraid."<p>

"Those men in red that came from the capital arrested six people today." Aziraphale muttered in a low, serious tone.

"They can just go up and arrest people?" Crowley responded. His voice dropped lower and his lips curled into a frown. "That doesn't seem right."

"Mostly no one knows about it," said Aziraphale. "But they were taken right _in front of me_ when I was out at the market this morning. They were marched straight into a prison carriage, and no one told me what their crimes were. They didn't look like thieves."

"It's best not to think about these things, angel." Crowley said. He remembered to whistle to call the bartender over. "Maybe a little sip of the sweet red wine is all you need."

"No, I don't think it will help." Aziraphale muttered, sounding disheartened. "It won't make me forget what it was like to watch that. And yet, part of me wants to believe that they must have done _something _bad to be hauled away."

"Now I _know_ you don't believe that." Crowley said frankly. "You don't even like it when people are given a trial."

"They're rigged, most of the time." Aziraphale answered quickly, continuing to speak in his low, somber voice.

"Angel, I don't care if you say you don't want it. "You _need_ a drink right now, something to take your mind off of it all; you know I can't stand to see you brooding like this." said Crowley. The demon didn't even bother ordering anything from the barkeep, but the wine appeared in front of both of them, poured in perfect portions. "Now, you're going to drink that, you're going to say 'maybe just this once', and then you're going to down three glasses and everything is going to be _fine_."

"If I remember correctly, telling fortunes was never your strong suit either." Aziraphale responded snidely. He downed the entire cup of his wine in one gulp, and refilled it with something even stronger. "What if I only have two cups of wine? And what if things _aren't_ fine?"

"Don't give me those lines," answered Crowley. "I mean, it's unfortunate what happened to those humans, but it happens all the time. Bad things happen to good people, and then wicked ones get off without so much as a slap on the wrist. We try to help – no, _you_ try to help but you can't always step in. Ineffability, you know."

"Dear, admit it. You've been able to lend a helping hand to a lot more than you give yourself credit for." Aziraphale told him earnestly. He was drinking his wine slower now. His mind was stewing, as if he were searching it for an example. "Why, the other day, didn't you give away your dinner plate to an orphan?"

"I was tempting him into gluttony!" Crowley exclaimed quickly, with his cheeks flushing. "If you're going to bring that up, I'll start listing all the ways you've been less than divine lately!"

"Oh, you can really name some?" Aziraphale asked him. Now, the angel's voice took on a sly, sharp, edge. "I dare you to name three."

"You punched someone square in the face last week." Crowley stated flatly.

"It was in self-defense!" Aziraphale argued. He took a sip of his wine in order to not entirely explode into an angry tirade. "He shouldn't have tried to rob me."

"Violence is still violence." Crowley stated simply. "And then there was the time when I caught you reading one of those sappy romance novels."

"I was curious!" exclaimed Aziraphale hastily. "I was wondering what it was about. I saw everyone carrying a book with a red cover. It's easy for me to mistaken it for something that was Holy."

"And then there's the time you said the Lord's name in vain." Crowley remarked. Aziraphale grimaced when the demon mentioned it.

"That was your fault." Aziraphale told him under a mask of drunkenness and embarrassment. "I mean, it wasn't necessary for you to cut the plants out front to make them look like that, my dear boy. That was a truly vile thing you did."

"But the looks on their faces was _worth it_, angel! Those prudes didn't see it coming!" exclaimed Crowley in a fit of laughter. He had to pause for a moment to let the giggles die down. "I think your bishop was about to keel over."

"Yes, and if he had, it would have been my responsibility to either send him onto the Pearly Gates or bring him back to this world." Aziraphale said. He wasn't sure why, but he managed to smile at the idea. "It would have given me something to do besides clip all those branches." he added.

Crowley grimaced at the angel's response. "You always know how to turn things into your favor, don't you?" he asked.

"It only comes naturally after forming that little pact of ours." Aziraphale said, waving a pointer finger at Crowley. "Don't you remember your exact words? We don't surrender, win or lose. We stay in the game and we stay on earth."

"Sure, make it sound like it's part of the Arrangement." Crowley told him, waving him off. "But you're really enjoying this, aren't you? Even now, you are."

"Well, I suppose it's not hard to relax after I've got another good buzz going." Aziraphale told him honestly. He was not all that happy to admit that, actually, because he was technically dabbling in sloth and gluttony. "I'm still wondering about those six though. Was there something I could have done?"

"There's nothing that you could have said or done without being discovered." Crowley told him simply. "We've been around here long enough to know that there are some things that just have to happen. We can't lose our minds over every little misfortune."

"I know that, but they were right in front of me!" exclaimed Aziraphale. "It would be different if they were in a far away country, where I don't even have any influence. But it was right before my eyes, when I could have done _something._"

"I thought you were buzzed, and you're still thinking about this?" Crowley asked him. The demon shook his head. "I swear you're hopeless, angel. Once you get your mind on something, it keeps going. Like... something eternal. I don't know. A carriage ride from here to northern France, I guess."

Aziraphale took a long sip of his stronger wine. He had finished it, but he'd not refilled a third cup. He seemed to almost be passive-aggressively trying to prove Crowley wrong about the whole "three drinks and all would be well" prediction the demon made earlier. But not taking that third drink was making him more miserable than he could be. No matter what he said or how much he drank, he could not forget the confusion, the fear and the doubt as those people were hauled away in the prison carriage, more than likely never to return.

He'd been quiet for a while stewing in his thoughts.

Crowley frowned. "Seeing you like this is almost making me depressed, angel. Snap out of it."

"I know I'll worry for them all day, until I find out what happens. No one's bothering to say anything about them, and it's making everything worse," said Aziraphale. The gloom in his words had returned like an unwelcome patch of gray clouds. He'd shoved his empty wine cup aside. "I'm sorry, Crowley. I'm not really going to be good company at the moment. I'm sure you can find someone who will be."

Crowley filled up the angel's wine glass a third time and his own a second. "I don't really need good company. You know that. Anyone I meet _becomes_ good company. All it takes is a little sleight of hand. A little temptation and they forget all the little things that make them want to be a goody two-shoes." Crowley leaned in to whisper in Aziraphale's ear. "Now, are you and I going to go up there and move to the music like we do every day? Or are you going to sulk about something you can't change?"

Aziraphale considered it. He thought about all of it - and what would surely be the catalyst of what Crowley proposed. Could he drink that third glass of wine and pretend that all was well? Could he dance and sing in merriment even if he felt this terrible pang of guilt inside?

Crowley had held out his hand. Aziraphale always hated keeping him hanging like that. For a moment he didn't see the Cantina, but that desert where he and Crowley camped by the lonely fire. He remembered the demon smiling that earnest, wry smile of his, proposing an alliance that had worked so far.

And just like back then, the angel took his hand.

Another small temptation could never hurt, and right now, it might have been just what he needed.

There was no need for Aziraphale to be dragged to the dance floor, not this time. He willingly walked, side by side with Crowley. For the briefest moment, the two of them held hands, as if it were something normal between them. Neither was sure who'd reached for who first, but then again, neither wanted to let go either.

They separated when each of them found a dance partner. Aziraphale bowed to the lady in front of him, and then he took her hands gingerly. The two of them stepped and swayed to the music, which played the upbeat tempo he surely needed to keep his mood in check.

Crowley slipped out of the circle of dancers, taking on a lute from one of the players. He began to strum the strings, and the music came out was something a little more than human. Crowley's notes traveled into the crowd and the dancers inched a little closer to one another. Ladies caressed their male partner's faces, and the men felt more inclined to lead.

Aziraphale glanced upward to find his demonic counterpart grinning, happy like a fool as he continued to play.

He was working his influence. The dance itself was a wile.

The angel still kept his hands joined with the lady who'd agreed to dance with him, but at the same time, he managed to keep his distance. He glanced at other couples in the crowd. With just his gaze, one of the dancers whose hands were wandering quickly stopped himself. He seemed a bit embarrassed, but his feet were moving again in no time.

A noble lady who was just about to kiss a stranger stopped herself when the angel's gaze met her. She suddenly felt guilty, and remembered the ring on her finger. She quickly found a man whose golden ring matched hers, and they seemed happily reunited.

The last few notes of Crowley's upbeat song echoed throughout the room until they faded away. The entire room went momentarily silent and the dancing came to a halt. The demon took a bow as applause erupted from the cantina's audience. Aziraphale could not help but roll his eyes, even if he couldn't look away. As captivated as he was by the demon's music, the angel thought this was all a little bit too showy, even for him.

But somehow, it worked. And at least for now, Aziraphale felt a small bit of warmth kindling inside him. It was contentment, stability. Something dreadful had happened this morning and there was no mistaking it. But it couldn't change things, not in the grand scheme of whatever the overall Divine Plan happened to be.

So far, that Divine Plan had kept him and Crowley in one piece, and somehow sharing one another's company. If their Arrangement wasn't meant to be, then the angel would have found it in himself to say "no." He was well within his power that night under the desert stars. But he chose a different path. He chose this alliance.

While Aziraphale tried his best to force a smile that wasn't false, Crowley had sauntered over in his general direction.

He put a playful arm around the angel's shoulders.

"How did you like my music, huh? I wrote it myself. I was saving it for when we both needed it the most." Crowley stated slyly.

Aziraphale pried Crowley's arm off him. "I saw what you were really doing with that music. You're a devious one, old serpent. I know that one for sure."

"Wasn't it a thrill, though? It got you thwarting again." said Crowley in a matter-fact-tone. "It might not have been what you _wanted_, angel, but it was definitely what you needed."

"Well…" Aziraphale paused for a moment, and then managed a tiny chuckle. "Yes, dear, you're probably right about me truly needing that. And you were even right about the third cup of wine too."

Crowley leaned in, whispering in the angel's ear. "Do you want to go to the square?" he asked him.

"That doesn't sound like a bad idea now, actually." Aziraphale answered. And although he kept his own hands to himself, he was in the right mood to let Crowley stay in his personal space.

The two of them walked, slowly and surely out of the bar and into the sunlight of another bright, cloudless day. The traffic had picked up, but pedestrians and carriage-goers alike found themselves mysteriously moving around two figures that were headed toward the square in a slow, nonchalant pace. Some people thought this was odd, until they remembered they had places to go.

The town square was like many of the other town squares Aziraphale and Crowley had visited in the past. There had been some attempt at keeping a garden in the center, in order to mimic the first garden there ever was. These flowers were not nearly as bright or colorful as the _very_ first ones, but Aziraphale could at least appreciate the humans' gesture.

Around the garden, roads extended in all directions, leading away from the center of the city and into the busy town. The crown jewel of this place, like any proper town square was the fountain. It was a simple fountain without any pictures etched into it, but the two of them had come to like it for its simplicity. In the hustle in bustle of nearly midday traffic, its running water made it a place of peace and tranquility.

Coins jingled in Crowley's hand and he tossed a silver piece in Aziraphale's direction. The angel acted fast, catching it between two of his fingers.

"What's this for?" Aziraphale asked him. He eyed the silver piece suspiciously, as if it would turn into something dreadful. Knowing Crowley, it would, or perhaps the coin was simply a fake one.

"You had to take the boring route in blending in as a clergyman. You don't exactly have those in your pocket at any given time." Crowley answered in an obvious tone. "I thought I'd give you _something_ to toss into that fountain."

"Well, I do prefer to be _sensible_ instead of flashy, unlike you." Aziraphale snapped. He couldn't call life in the church exciting, but at the same time, he kept out of trouble. The angel glanced down at the little piece of silver in his hand. "Do you really think wishing on a fountain works? I mean, it's just a statue that spouts out water, dear."

"I just thought that whatever you imagined comes true. It really doesn't work for me, but maybe you can miracle a wish to come true or something," said Crowley.

"You mean, you want me to try it just to see if it _works_?" Aziraphale asked him pointedly.

"Well, why not?" Crowley asked. He held up a coin of his own. "And I'll make a wish too, just to be fair. But don't get me wrong. It's not that I think something cheesy like this is going to work for me."

"Well, perhaps if we both truly, earnestly believe-" Aziraphale began.

"You know how I feel about belief now, angel." Crowley interrupted quickly.

"I'm not talking about belief in anything _Up There_." Aziraphale answered, turning the silver piece over in his hand. "I just meant belief in general. There must be something you have some slanted bit of faith in. Now, if it's something truly _diabolical_ I'll ask you keep it to yourself."

Just what _were_ his beliefs? Crowley hadn't really considered it. There were no reasons for him to think about it. When he sauntered vaguely away from Heaven and never looked back, just the very act of belief was probably beyond him. But deep inside, there was something. He couldn't really call it faith, not in the traditional sense, but it was a type of … what was that word? Hope. Yes, it was hope that fate would look out for him, and that there was always a chance for even the worst situation to turn around for the better.

He thought of that chance. Crowley held the coin within both hands and asked – practically begged for that chance for things to remain as peaceful as they could for himself and the angel who always walked beside him. He shut his eyes and flipped the coin into the water. It should have only made one splash, but Crowley heard two.

He opened his eyes to find Aziraphale's hand empty of his coin.

"So you made a wish after all." The demon mused. "Did it already come true?"

"It's not something that will come true right away, dear." Aziraphale answered him calmly. "But I truly hope it works, none the less, for both our sake."

"I'm not going to count on mine," said Crowley, shrugging his shoulders. "But it would be nice if I saw it happen."

"What exactly did you wish for?" Aziraphale wondered. He put his hands on his hips, appearing impatient with his companion. "If I wake up next morning to find this city in utter _chaos_ from your wiles, I swear-"

"It's nothing like that." Crowley told him. "Why wish for something that happens every day, angel?" He stared into the water of the fountain, as if to avert himself from Aziraphale entirely. "What I wished for might not come true right away either, if it comes true at all. It's definitely not against you."

"Should I expect you to be honest about that?" asked Aziraphale. "We're still on opposite sides, after all. You could be lying. As a matter of fact, you could have wished for me to trip into a puddle or some other such nonsense."

"Wha-"Crowley's speech and his mind stopped as the angel's words derailed his train of thought. "Didn't I tell you before? I don't wish for things if I can actually make them happen! It might be funny to see you all flustered and eager to thwart me, but one of the rules of our pact is that we don't actually target _each _other, remember? I wouldn't actually _hurt_ you. I'm not like that."

"I…" Aziraphale wanted to argue, but found he had no grounds to. There were no times, in recent or distant memory that he could remember Crowley _personally_ spiting him or otherwise harming him. As much as the angel hated to admit it, his demonic counterpart had a point. And so he just crossed his arms, looking away from Crowley with a huff. "Well, I also remember that _another_ part of our pact is to continue doing our work. We're getting nothing accomplished just having a conversation at the fountain like this."

"I suppose not." Crowley answered with a light sigh. No matter how many times he tried to tempt Aziraphale into relaxing, it never worked for long. "It's time for us both to go home, and for me to cause a little trouble along the way."

"The same here, only I'll do a little good when I take my walk," said Aziraphale. "I'll see you around."

"Yeah, sure, smell you later, angel." Crowley said. The demon snickered as he gave him a mock salute. This caused Aziraphale to glare in his direction, but the raven-haired "baron" Crowley was already sauntering westward.

* * *

><p>The next morning would not prove to be a typical one, even by Crowley's odd standards. Although it truly began in a way that he could describe as "mundane", what happened next would not be something he was prepared for. Oblivious to what lay ahead, he did not so much as step as slither out of bed. He slipped on his black tunic, and took a few minutes fixing his hair in the mirror. Much to the envy of his angelic counterpart, Crowley could neatly smooth his hair back without hardly any effort.<p>

He fastened his belt, and then stepped into his boots. Crowley took one last look at the mirror in his room before stepping out to meet the day. If you looked sharp at the beginning of the morning, there was very little that could go wrong. Or at least, that's what he imagined.

Crowley expected the hustle and bustle that came with his servants' routines, but found his house relatively quiet. Where had they all gone? It's not like he needed them, but it was better to have the hired help around in order to keep up his appearance as human. He couldn't imagine any of them being late. He'd made the rooster crow early again today.

People hated being early risers, but they could never fall back asleep once they opened their eyes. It was enough to throw them off for an entire day, and no amount of thwarting could have put them at ease. The "early day" was actually one of Crowley's better pieces of work - and it also kept those who were working in his estate in check.

At least, that's how it was until today.

Crowley poked between rooms, wondering if they all had decided to pull some kind of practical joke on him. He wasn't amused when he searched every nook and cranny of his home only to find nothing. Not a soul.

Staying holed up in an empty house was never fun, and it was worse when Downstairs would get on your case for not stirring up any trouble for the rest of the day. So, although he found no one was home, he would surely find them somewhere in town. Crowley had it in mind to give the washerwomen and cooks at his place an extra hard time for daring to show up late.

It did not take long to find them.

Although he could only see the backs of their heads, he could see the staff of his house and others plain as day, all joining a crowd that seemed to be gathered around the square. He would have asked what the ruckus was about, if he didn't see the stakes that were just ahead.

There were six of them, and tied to each one was a person – three men and three women. Crowley almost averted his eyes, particularly from the fires that had been lit at their feet.

But he glanced at every one of them, out of a small sense of respect. He could not dishonor them by looking away without at least saying goodbye.

Only a small sniffle fairly close to him could make Crowley look away. Off to his left side, he was surprised to see who it came from. Aziraphale's cheeks were wet with tears, and they also stained his already disheveled blond hair. He was a mess, and he looked like one. And even as Crowley tried to look at him, the angel averted his gaze. He tried to hide his face, but Crowley had gotten a glimpse of Aziraphale's reddened, dried out eyes that were normally so calm and serene. He wanted to so something to help, but the demon could think of nothing.

He was no good at seeing anyone cry, and he'd been taught by Downstairs that he was supposed to celebrate it. But Crowley was in no mood for reverie. There was nothing to cheer about.

And so, Crowley spoke, to at least acknowledge his counterpart. "Angel -"

Aziraphale did not turn around to regard Crowley, but he spoke to him regardless. "It's not working." He muttered, in a voice of abject terror.

"Aziraphale-"

"None of my miracles are working. _Something_ is interfering with them." he muttered again in the same flat, shell-shocked monotone. "I tried to untie the ropes. I tried to douse the flames and even instill the thoughts for the executioners to stop. It didn't work, none of it worked!"

"If it's any consolation, the smoke probably made them go a long time ago. They're not feeling any of it." Crowley muttered. It was hardly a reassurance.

"Even so, it's not an honorable way to go." Aziraphale muttered. He continued to hide his face as the locks of his hair fell on both sides. One would have to look very close to notice the angels' lips quivering, his hands slightly shaking as he turned his back on the scene in front of him. "I can't bear to watch this anymore. I don't know how anyone could cheer this on, and stay. I have to go."

Aziraphale took off without another word.

"Angel, wait a minute!" Crowley exclaimed. The demon took off after his angelic counterpart, seeing hardly any alternatives.

Besides, Crowley really wasn't in the mood to stand there and watch this happen either. There were limits, he felt, to cruelty, and he'd never really liked the idea of bringing death upon people. It was hard to watch up close, and that's why he'd kept his distance with his wiles. And in the end, he never truly injured anyone permanently. He'd heard of burning the witches at the stake, fair enough, but he never enjoyed seeing it.

If_ he_ hated it, he could understand why Aziraphale would run. But something spurred him ahead to try and catch his angelic counterpart, before he'd go off and do something foolish.

When Aziraphale finally slowed down, neither he nor Crowley could tell where they were. All they knew was that it was a dead end.

Crowley wasn't sure how to proceed. If he stepped closer, Aziraphale could have an incredibly bad knee-jerk reaction. But if he ran away now, it would have undermined his efforts to keep up. It would have also meant leaving a somewhat emotionally unstable angel who still had it in him to become a personification of divine fury to his own devices. It could never be good. He was like a ticking time bomb, ready to explode with ethereal power.

Aziraphale's halo was already showing, and that was never a good sign.

Crowley took one step. It was as far as he was willing to go.

"Angel, listen-" he began speaking.

"No!" Aziraphale shouted. "Don't say anything, Crowley."

"You don't even know what I'm trying to tell you!" the demon exclaimed. He'd taken another step.

"I know da-..." Aziraphale stopped himself from swearing, although it would have felt nice right now. "I know very well what you're going to say! You're going to tell me it's all ineffable, and there's nothing that we could have done! Save your excuses, Crowley! This is something truly awful that's happened... And..." his voice was beginning to break as his outburst continued. "And it's all my fault." he muttered with dread.

"How is it _your_ fault?" asked Crowley, in disbelief of the angel. He dared to take another step closer, but was still well beyond arm's length of him. He didn't want to take any chances. "You didn't exactly light their stakes yourself, did you?"

"No, but I gave them the power to light anything!" Aziraphale exclaimed in a shrill, distraught voice. His energy began to radiate out of his form. A faint shadow of his wings could be seen. "I'm the one who gave them fire, Crowley! They had no business getting their hands on it!"

"You didn't know how twisted the humans could be when you gave them your gift. You just wanted to keep them warm." Crowley told him, as calmly as he could. He did not take another step this time. It was too much of a risk. "None of this happened because of you, angel. So tuck your wings in and make your halo disappear before you take your true shape and forget how to change back."

Aziraphale was quiet for the longest time. Although neither he nor Crowley needed to take in breaths to survive, he found himself rapidly inhaling and exhaling. Aziraphale tried anything and everything to bring himself calm, until he found it in himself to bring forth a small miracle of serenity. Very slowly, but at a sure pace the ghost-like visage of the angel's wings disappeared, and his halo faded from sight.

But his mind was still on the image that troubled him - six mortals, six souls, all of them that needed him, but none of them that he could help.

The angel buried his head into his hands. "I suppose I couldn't have predicted any of this." he admitted. "After all, I'm really not special, compared to some of the others Up There. I wasn't given the gift to see the future. Maybe that means I can't change much of anything."

"We definitely can't change the past, if that's what you mean." Crowley answered him. This time, the demon stopped counting his steps. He closed the distance between himself and Aziraphale. He was far away from him one moment and right beside the angel the next. "And I guess I'm not too remarkable either. I can't see the future. It's not exactly common. But we _can_ change it. There's always a chance, angel. No matter how small it is."

"But it's like you told me before," Muttered Aziraphale sadly, looking to his right side at Crowley, who'd dared to move closer to him. "We can make a dent, but we can't really tip the scales. Today I saw just how little of a difference I could make. I couldn't save them. For Go- ... goodness sakes, Crowley, I couldn't save them!"

"What about everyone else you've helped?" Crowley asked him. "I'm not talking about when you give them a horse or a way around the fruit carts either. I'm talking about when you _really_ help people. You know, with that healing stuff. Where would those people be without you, huh? Do you want to know?"

"It's not like scrapes and bruises would send them Down There or anything." Aziraphale muttered in a flat monotone.

"Maybe not, but if they've got to deal with being hurt without anyone to turn to, that can take a toll on them." Crowley said casually. "You give them something that my side can't ever take away, and probably something your side hasn't actually grasped yet."

"What's that?" asked Aziraphale. His voice had perked up in his curiosity, and the tears had long dried from his eyes.

"Er, I don't know what it's really called. It's one of those fuzzy feelings." Crowley tried to explain it, but he tripped over his words. "That thing you get when you believe there's a light in the darkness. When you still think things can turn around when it's all become black and terrible. Something like that, anyhow."

"Hope?" Aziraphale hazarded a guess.

"Yes, that." Crowley answered, nodding. "You give them hope that things will get better because you make them that way with your little miracles. They're not huge gestures like a rainbow or anything, but they don't have to be grandiose. They're simple, and they're enough for people to get by." Crowley wanted to say even he liked the angel's style, but that would have probably been crossing the line.

"I suppose I have seen my share of smiles during my time here." Aziraphale said, trying to chuckle but finding himself unable. "And… along with my healing I do have my duties to the monastery. I can't be falling to pieces like this. I have to get back. I'm sorry to have troubled you, dear. Maybe do a quick wile for me while I walk, and I'll be fine."

"Actually," Crowley said, snapping his fingers. The sound of hooves against the cobblestones could be heard in the distance. "I was wondering if I could tempt you with a lift."

"Are you asking me to commit sloth again? You _are_ a sly one, aren't you?" Aziraphale asked. At first, he seemed to be serious, until he gave a small laugh. "But I suppose I don't mind. Your side would start to get happy with the pitchforks if you actually did a favor without tempting anyone."

"You _know_ they don't really use pitchforks." Crowley answered cheerfully. "It's far too cliché. Even the guys still stuck in the first century mindset have put them away."

The demon whistled. It shouldn't have done anything special, but Crowley's influence was strong enough to make things fall into place for him. Maybe others' drivers wouldn't hear their masters halfway across the city, but Crowley's did, and the horse was in motion.

The rather familiar dark carriage rolled down the cobbles that were nearby in almost no time at all. One might have wondered how Crowley's driver found him and Aziraphale when they were in an alley that was probably long unmarked on any maps. Crowley would have simply shrugged and explained that his driver always knew where he was, and his wheels were ready and willing to take him anywhere.

Aziraphale stepped inside almost too willingly.

And this time, he took a different seat. Rather than sitting across from Crowley, he sat beside the demon.

The two of them did not speak, but stayed in one another's company as the horse's hooves fell onto the ground below them.

Aziraphale found himself doing what he'd never fathom. He not only sat at Crowley's side, but he dared to lean against him. The angel's contact with him caused Crowley to look in his direction. He found Aziraphale's gaze meeting his.

Although he probably didn't expect a full-on angelic grin, Crowley didn't see a smile from his counterpart, despite his efforts to calm him earlier. Not even their ride in the comfortable black carriage was enough to put the angel's mind at ease. Crowley wasn't sure what else he could do.

He wasn't sure whether it was by instinct or if it was by something else, but Crowley's hand gripped lightly onto Aziraphale's. The angel did not jump from the sudden gesture, and neither did he pull back. But he did raise a suspicious eyebrow in his demonic counterpart's direction. He glanced at him, but it wasn't a hostile glare that Crowley was used to. He seemed puzzled, and possibly even surprised.

Crowley sighed when the angel's gaze met him. "Don't take offense, angel. You need it now more than ever."

"I'm not taking offense." Aziraphale answered him simply. "This just isn't like you. I mean, I didn't know you were actually capable of a gesture like this."

Aziraphale's hand slightly squeezed Crowley's in return, and the ghost of a smile appeared on his face. "But I suppose I might need it, just this once."

Crowley said nothing more. He felt like there was nothing more he could say or do beyond this point. He actually wasn't sure why it'd been his instinct to help the angel - other than the fact he had some of his old ways still lingering around from before his fall. Yes, that must have been it. They were both of angel stock, and nothing more.

And as much as Crowley liked to see Aziraphale flustered, he couldn't stand to see him truly upset the way he had been earlier. The demon almost wanted to pull off a truly dangerous wile for the humans reveling in that public execution, but he'd shown restraint. It was bad enough to feel sympathy for someone who was supposed to be his rival - but if he'd gone off and smited a human in the crowd, it would go against his very nature. His kind weren't exactly renowned for their "divine" fury.

It'd taken even greater restraint not to turn into something hideous to scare all of them out of their minds too.

Crowley's own anger nearly flared up, until he felt the warmth of Aziraphale's hand on his. They did not just share contact, but the angel had it in his mind to use one of his miracles to bring both of them tranquility. A simple gesture like this wouldn't be recognized or written down for anyone to read about in the Holy Book later, but Crowley never thought those stories were such a big deal in the first place.

The two of them stayed hand and hand as the ride continued on.

The flames of rage that had threatened to fan like an inferno within Crowley had all but receded when they finally pulled up to the monastery.

Crowley wasn't paying attention at first, but he'd heard Aziraphale say something.

"What was that?" asked Crowley.

"I said this is my stop." Aziraphale told him. He'd let go of Crowley's hand, forcing a chuckle. "I can make it all the way back from here, dear. You don't have to worry about me. As long as I remember everything I have to do, I will be fine."

Aziraphale had told Crowley that, but his appearance told a different story. He'd miracled enough calm within both of them to stop anything truly drastic, but the angel looked a bit worse for wear. Although it was never quite as devilishly stylish as his own, Aziraphale's hair was a matted, tear-stained mess. His eyes had dried considerably from his earlier tears. Crowley wasn't sure whether it was the angel's forced smile, or the very feeling of his soul. But the demon could tell his counterpart was not "fine."

And so he stepped out of his carriage, and gave the driver three silver. "Go on home." he said. "I think I'm going to stay here for tonight."

"W-wait a moment, Crowley!" stammered Aziraphale awkwardly, stunned at his counterpart's sudden behavior. "I-I told you I'd be alright, and I meant it! I want you to go back home and enjoy all your little indulgences. All you have to do is snap your fingers, right?"

"I don't feel like snapping them all the sudden." Crowley answered. He made a show of things, hunching over and walking in slow steps. "I just remembered how tiring today was and I don't think I could make it back to the estate without dropping. It'd be awful if a generous nobleman just passed out and you didn't do anything, right, angel?"

"Oh for Go-... goodness sake, Crowley." Aziraphale said flatly, placing his hands on his hips. "You're not really dragging your feet. I'm willing to bet that as soon as I let you in, you'll cause no end of trouble." The angel sighed as he slapped the palm of his hand over his face. "Walk straight, will you? It's rather embarrassing to see you like that."

"It is _way_ too easy to get you worked up, you know that?" Crowley teased. He closed in on the angel and caught him in a headlock, playfully ruffling with his hair. "I'm staying the night, especially if you say you don't want me to. I feel like it's my job, nothing personal."

Aziraphale broke free of Crowley's hold. His cheeks flushed in embarrassment, and he could not bring himself to look his dark-haired counterpart in the eye. "I get the bed, before you even ask. And no, we are not sharing. This conversation is over."

"Geez, angel. Talk about being _touchy_." Crowley whistled, dragging out the vowels of the word to emphasize his point. "I never said anything about the bed at all. You jumped to your own conclusions. I probably wouldn't have even asked if you didn't bring it up." he said, as the two of them walked slowly, tiredly toward Aziraphale's room.

"Don't think I forgot the time in Madrid where you sneaked into my inn room and took up the bed on purpose 'just to see what kind of face I'd make'." Aziraphale stated sourly, folding his arms across his chest. He kicked his room's door open, with a near deadly force. It slammed behind him.

"That was a riot!" exclaimed Crowley happily. He managed a giggle, which was more than he should have been able to do, considering his current situation. "I think you were making that exact face. And your hands were even on your hips like that. You said: "Anthony J. Crowley, what do you think you're doing?!" in your highest voice ever. It was classic."

"All along, I knew it was just you tempting me to commit acts of wrath." Aziraphale told him sharply. The angel sat at his desk, and pulled a few books out of their places, as if he were looking for something. "If that's really all you're here for," Aziraphale told him, as his hands seemed to be searching for something in the darkness just beyond Crowley's view. "I suggest you leave. I'm really not in the mood. I told you not to stay, and I'm afraid I _meant it_ this time, dear."

From the darkness, he pulled out a bottle of wine. There shouldn't have been more than one cup since he lived alone, but there were suddenly two. And one of them appeared on the floor in front of Crowley.

"I've never been good at doing what other people tell me to, you know that." Crowley said with a wry smile on his face. The demon's grin grew that much bigger when he saw the wine appear right in front of him. By the smell of it, this was the really good stuff. Aziraphale only broke this out when he absolutely needed it.

"I do believe I know what my problem was, now that I think of it." Aziraphale said, changing the subject. He'd downed his entire cup, and more of the sweet, red liquid appeared for him to taste without him even lifting the bottle. "I just couldn't handle anything I saw sober."

"Isn't that breaking your vow of temperance or something?" Crowley wondered. It was not a question that was asked with a smile or even that slight edge to his voice he always gained while tempting. It was a genuine concern - a worry so real that the demon had not even touched his cup. "I'd actually watch what you do tonight, angel. You've come close to losing it once already."

"Why would it concern you if I broke any of my vows?" Aziraphale asked suspiciously. He took another swig. He savored the taste, along with the buzz that was already coming on. "I'm sure all that hand-holding stuff back there was just another way for you to worm your way in."

"Where did this distrust come from?" Crowley asked him. He no longer felt relaxed, so he sat up from his otherwise comfortable position on the floor. He put his hand over the angel's cup before he could raise a word in protest. "I've looked out for you for a very long time, Aziraphale. And I'm not about to stop. It was part of our pact. We..." he stopped. He wasn't sure what he could say here that didn't sound unbecoming of him. "We... er, we watch each other's backs, don't we?"

"I'm not in any danger by drinking. You know very well that we can't actually die." Aziraphale told him sharply. He glanced in the demon's direction. His gaze alone was giving off all the warning signs that whoever had crossed him was about to pay dearly. "Besides, it's to your advantage if I suddenly became tempted by gluttony, right?"

"It's to my side's advantage in general, but not mine." Crowley corrected him. He stood up now; having enough of the angel acting like he was all high and mighty just because he was sitting at a desk. "I don't know what's going through that holy little mind of yours. As a matter of fact, I don't want to know. What I _do_ know is that you're wasting good wine moping and trying to drown your sorrows with it."

Aziraphale could only answer him with silence. He cast a suspicious glare at Crowley, as if wondering what he was going to do next.

Crowley reached down and got his own wine cup, bringing its edge close to Aziraphale's. "I'm only going to share a toast with you if you show me that smile of yours. Do you think you can do that for me?"

"Wh-what..." Aziraphale stammered awkwardly, unable to respond to Crowley's offer. "What kind of temptation is that?"

"It's not a temptation. It's a simple proposal, angel. Take it or leave it." Crowley told him with a casual tone. "I just know that I might get awfully bored if you don't share a toast with me. I might be in the right mood to show that illustration of Archangel Raphael and Uriel in the throes of divine ecstasy on the pages of your Holy book again."

"That image was completely false and conjured by you!" exclaimed Aziraphale indignantly. His cheeks flushed a bright red. "I simply cannot believe you'd have the audacity to do that. If you're bored, then go home! I already told you to!"

"I can't go home now. My driver's already sound asleep, I'm sure." Crowley answered simply. "We only have two options. We're going to have a good night, and we're going to share this wine the way it's meant to be shared. Or, I'm going to have to tempt you until you loosen up a little." Crowley held up his wine cup. "So what'll it be, angel?"

"You're not really giving me a choice in the matter, are you?" Aziraphale asked, glancing in Crowley's direction. He shook his head. "This is how it always is with you. You get what you want, no matter what."

"That doesn't sound like a very good toast to me." Crowley said. He kept his wine cup in the air, almost urging it toward the angel's. "You and I had one bad day today. It doesn't mean _everything_ has turned upside down." The demon felt strange, trying to be the encouraging one. Normally, the roles were reversed.

"Yes, you may be right," Aziraphale admitted. "One bad day surely can't spoil the whole year and the ones ahead of it." The angel raised his own cup. "That can be our toast, my dear."

"That works for me," said Crowley, raising his wine cup. "Here's to a better rest of the year."

"Yes. Here's to the better days that must surely be ahead of us." Aziraphale answered. Their cups met, and they both seemed to sip in unison. There was another thing Crowley was right about. Although this was the strong stuff, the good stuff, it tasted better when it was drank in celebration.

It'd been a small celebration, of making it through a rather difficult day. But never the less, it was a reason to share a drink and a grin with the only person who bothered to share either with him.

"Want another round?" asked Aziraphale. He was more than happy to oblige the both of them at the moment.

"Sure!" Crowley exclaimed joyfully. Their cups were full again. They shared many more toasts than the one for a better rest of the year.

By the time evening rolled around, both of them were completely drunk. Crowley had relaxed again, lying on his back with his hands behind his head. Aziraphale had moved to his bed, laying in a similar position to his demonic counterpart. He poured himself another cup of the strong, sweet red wine. Instead of drinking it right away, he swirled the liquid around and watched it spin.

"Y'know, if I was still up in Heaven, I wouldn't be able to have a drop of this stuff." Aziraphale said, his words beginning to slur. He took just a sip this time, and savored the taste. "It's one of them deathly sins. 'S gluttony, I think." He turned to Crowley, pointing his finger at him. "I bet your side lets you get good and drunk though."

"They don't really _let_ me," Crowley answered. "None of us can get a good buzz unless we steal it from Beezlebub. And that's only on Banquet Tuesdays." Crowley made a motion with his hands that suggested something was wide. "You should see how big he gets when he gorges himself. He looks kind of like one of those big cheese wheels from Holland."

"Did he roll?" Aziraphale asked out of curiosity that he should not have had.

"No, but if someone tipped him over, I bet he would." Crowley answered.

The two of them laughed at the mental image of one of the "fearsome" demons of the Seven Deadly Sins rolling away. Aziraphale felt terrible for it, but he'd actually imagined Beezlebub rolling into the Void. He probably deserved it.

"Raphael likes to say that this stuff brings out the worst in people." Aziraphale said, sloshing the wine around this way and that. "I wish he could try it. I bet he'd stop knocking it."

"All those guys Upstairs could unwind a little." Crowley replied. "If I had my way, they wouldn't bother us over anything."

"Wait…" Aziraphale paused, as if he were actually considering what Crowley said. "Are you talking about "us" as in "the earth" or "us" as in the two of us?"

"Well, they should stop pushing people around in general." Crowley answered nonchalantly. "It'd be really nice if Metatron stopped trying to talk you into doing unpleasant things too."

"It can't be helped." Aziraphale replied, setting his cup aside on his night stand. "He's got to keep even _me_ on the righteous path sometimes."

"But don't you ever just want to say 'no' for a change?" Crowley wondered. He sat up, looking toward the angel, wondering what his reaction would be. "I mean, wouldn't it be nice to tell him that you're not his errand boy?"

"It would be _nice_, but it can't happen." Aziraphale stated. "I can't truly disobey. But I do get back at him and the others sometimes if I feel like they're not giving me my space."

"You get back at people." Crowley said it flatly, for it wasn't even a question. To him, it seemed impossible. "Tell me exactly how _you_ do something like that."

"I still follow orders, mind you." Aziraphale stated, before Crowley got any assumptions. "But I just make it a point to do what they ask of me as slow as possible. As long as it's done, they really can't complain."

"That sounds so like you." Crowley teased. "You're still a goody two-shoes angel, but you've got that mean streak in you."

"I don't consider it mean." Aziraphale argued. "It's just my small way of spiting them Up There. They can make the most ridiculous demands."

"Why do you think I stepped out?" Crowley asked. "Honestly, following orders for the sake of following them was never my style since the beginning. But that doesn't make sense."

"Well, perhaps you were just created differently-"

"That's the whole point though." Crowley interrupted. "If He really wanted everything to be perfect, why did He make it possible for us to disobey? If you ask me, I think the Man Upstairs almost wanted the rebellion to happen."

"That's crazy." Aziraphale said flatly. "You might've had a bit too much, I think. It was thanks to that rebellion that your side comes up to earth and causes no end of mischief."

"Your side isn't exactly merciful all the time either." Crowley answered quickly. "What I'm trying to say, angel, is that... well, if the Man Upstairs is so powerful, he could have influenced everyone from my side to come back. But he didn't. What if he's choosing not to? What if instead, he lets there be another side, you know?"

"I can't even begin to imagine what your point is." Aziraphale stated, appalled at Crowley's audacity. "And I almost don't have the patience to wait."

"My point is, He needs people like me, so that people like you have someone to thwart. Otherwise, your side would run rampant with flaming swords toward humanity. And the whole thing would go up in smoke, boom." Crowley made a gesture with his hands to show an explosion. "No more earth, just like that."

"I..." Aziraphale wanted to say that "he thought it was completely insane to suggest that." He wanted to list reasons why, but he suddenly couldn't remember what he was arguing about. "I think we've both had enough, dear." he said. There was no other point he could remember bringing up.

"Yeah, you're right about that." Crowley said. He was sure his sudden headache was from a hangover that came too soon, and not for any other reason.

The both of them shut their eyes only for a minute, before the alcohol left their bodies.

Aziraphale leaned the back of his head against his pillow. He relaxed against the bed and the pillows, while still keeping his gaze fixed upon Crowley.

"It's strange, but I feel really tired. My sleep might not be fake tonight." the angel muttered, covering his mouth as he felt a yawn coming on.

"Then get some shuteye, angel. There's no harm in it." Crowley sat up by the candle at Aziraphale's night stand. "Should I sing you a lullaby?" he added in a teasing voice.

"Absolutely not," Aziraphale told him. He pulled the covers close to him. "You'll probably twist the words and make it something completely inappropriate."

"I think you know me a little too well." the demon commented. "I'd do that on a normal day, sure. But today hasn't really been normal for us, has it?"

"No," answered Aziraphale. His face fell and his voice took on a somber tone. "I suppose it hasn't."

"So, let's both rest and leave this day behind us." said Crowley. He managed a tiny grin. "I can blow out the candle."

"I'd like that." Aziraphale told him.

The angel opened up his mouth to say the next few words he wanted, but decided to hold them back. He couldn't believe he was actually thinking about thanking Crowley! The old serpent was surely up to his tricks. Maybe some hideous shape would form in the smoke when he blew out the candle. Or perhaps Aziraphale would find his face marked up by paint when he woke up.

Either way, he expected Crowley to be up to no good. Just because he couldn't sense malice from him now didn't mean it wouldn't come up later.

But never the less, without tricks or gimmicks, Crowley grabbed the candle.

"Good night, Aziraphale." said the dark-clad demon. With a puff of his breath, the candle's flame went out.

"Good night, my dear." Aziraphale answered calmly.

He heard shuffling on the floor as Crowley got comfortable. Neither of them remembered an extra pillow or blanket being in the room, but there was suddenly soft bedding that would even make Crowley's resting spot on the floor comfortable. The demon looked up. He swore that Aziraphale was sound asleep, but he was still able to perform a miracle as he soared off to dreamland.

Leave it to the angel to do something like that.

Today had been an off day, but the night would prove to be peaceful and quiet. Normally, Crowley thought peace and quiet were boring things, but he welcomed them tonight.

* * *

><p>Aziraphale was the first one to rise the next morning. The angel stretched and yawned, wiping sleep from his eyes. He was careful when stepping onto the floor, making sure that a certain serpent was nowhere in his path.<p>

The angel noted Crowley's presence on the far end of the room. The dark-haired one was still curled up in his blankets, resting soundly on his pillow. Aziraphale almost had it in his heart to leave him asleep, until he remembered all the early morning wiles Crowley pulled on him in the past four years. Having his share of rude awakenings, the angel nudged his counterpart with his foot.

A groan escaped from Crowley as he blinked awake. "What did you do that for?" he asked groggily. "I was having such a wonderful dream."

"We don't dream, not that often. And consider it payback for all those times you made the rooster crow before the break of dawn." Aziraphale answered testily.

"Well, it looks like you're back to your old, bitter self." Crowley said. He sat up and chuckled. "Welcome back, angel. Good to see you finally leaving Doomsville."

"Just get up and go on home now." Aziraphale said hastily. "It's bad enough that you stayed the night. I'm sure they're already talking."

"And who cares what they're saying, as long as you and I know the truth?" asked Crowley.

"And your staff must be a least a little worried that you never came home." the angel added.

"I guess I should be getting back." Crowley mused. He stood up, and looked back at Aziraphale one last time. He winked. "It's another day, angel. We've got another chance for a good one. Let's make the most of it."

Aziraphale answered with a nod. There was nothing else to say. Yesterday had taken its toll, but a good night's rest in decent company had made him able to move on.

He waved to Crowley before the demon took his exit.

Aziraphale proceeded into them main hallway. And it did not take long before he heard the other clergymen mumbling and bickering among each other.

"I swear it wasn't me!" shouted one of them. "I'm innocent!"

"You were the last one awake! Even Friar Aziraphale retired early last night. So tell me, who else would replace the sacred white candles with black ones, and who would dare to light them?" said another.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. Of all things to do, Crowley just had to play tricks on their minds by blackening the candle wax. Shaking his head, he glanced at the candles on the chandelier, along with the two standing by the preacher's podium. He glared at them until they remembered which color they were supposed to be.

"Actually, I don't think it's a problem at all." Aziraphale said cheerfully.

One priest looked him. "But, Friar Aziraphale, the candles-"

"Were fine all along." he interrupted.

And just like other times when he'd thwarted Crowley, the humans stared in bafflement. They questioned their senses, but never suspected the cosmic forces at work. Aziraphale found it a good opportunity to sweep while the humans in his company came to terms with "the tricks of their eyes."

And while he swept the dirt out into the street, Aziraphale had a prayer, a wish. He'd hoped that today would not be like yesterday at all, but that it would be somewhat like his first few weeks here. It would be a new challenge, or as Crowley put it, a new chance for things to go better. Above all, the angel hoped for peace.

* * *

><p>On the opposite end of the town from the angel's monastery, Crowley arrived back at his estate. He found himself greeted fondly by his staff, some of whom proceeded to fret over his untimely absence. Crowley waved them off, simply telling them he was fine. He was always fine.<p>

The demon proceeded upstairs. He wanted to change into a different tunic - this one had grown wrinkly from his little nap on the floor. He could technically smooth the wrinkles out to maintain his "devilishly sharp" appearance, but again, he had to keep up his act. Humans couldn't smooth out wrinkles in clothing unless they washed them. That took a lot more effort than simply changing.

Crowley opened his door.

Much to his unpleasant surprise though, he wasn't alone.

There was a lone figure sitting in his favorite chair by the window. They looked up, and spoke to him with a low voice. Their smile looked as if it could have cut someone – it was sharp and dangerous as any knife.

"Hello, Crowley." They said.

~ To Be Continued


End file.
